Miles Gray loved and hated many things in life. On this particular
day, his mood leaned more towards the side of “hating many things”
for a number of reasons.

His job as the supervisor at a meat packaging plant called
Hornewigg’s Quality Meats, left much to be desired in his life.
Sure, the pay was good, it allowed him to live a pleasant life of
pleasure, and he’d probably never be let go, but it didn’t change
the fact that the job could be monotonous. There are only so many
times you can hear that the jerky cutter was jammed, the smoker isn’t
smoking, or the label applying machine won’t apply the labels
before your mind cuts off all thought and is moving as if it is
programmed—much like a robot.

Miles found himself now, at the end of his day, grateful that he was
leaving. The weekend, a time he loved, was ahead of him, and he would
worry about work on the upcoming, hated Monday. All he wanted was
some peace and quiet, time to relax, and a happy weekend would be
ahead of him.

But Miles hated the drive home. And by hated it should be noted that
he loathed it. Hornewigg’s Quality Meats was located just about a
one hour drive from his home. It took him from the bustling town of
Lansfield to the remotest part of the state. The first part of the
drive consisted of heavy traffic, plenty of stoplights, and the
occasional automobile accident delays. The second part of the drive
became much like his job—a long, boring, drab ride through the
country. The land was flat, grassy, and yellow. He passed plenty of
farms with horses, cows, and sheep. And there just wasn’t much to
enjoy. Even though the speed limit was 45 miles per hour during this
stretch, he always drove it close to 70. He was willing to take the
risk of a speeding ticket, if it meant getting home within one hour
rather than one and a half.